


Vorta Drinking Games

by Vorta_Scholar



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Drinking, Drinking Games, Risa - Freeform, Shore Leave, Trektober 2020, Weyoun 6 lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27277732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vorta_Scholar/pseuds/Vorta_Scholar
Summary: Weyoun loves games. And while on shore leave on Risa, he finds one he's quite good at.
Relationships: Ezri Dax & Weyoun 6
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Vorta Drinking Games

**Author's Note:**

> For Trektober 2020, Day 28 (posted 2 days late...sorry)
> 
> Prompt: Shore leave/Risa

Weyoun sat at a bar near the beach. It was a Terran bar, one which sold real alcohol and was decorated like some cheap replica of a luau in an old, vaguely offensive movie. He had a drink in his hand—something called a “fuzzy navel.” The name didn’t make much sense. Ever since Federation doctors removed his implant and repaired the damage it had done to his body, he found himself able to taste things, and he enjoyed trying things now for taste as well as texture. But if anyone asked him, this didn’t taste anything like what he assumed its name would seem to imply.

“You’re one of those Vorto, aren’t you?” a voice behind him asked, drawing him away from that thought.

Turning, he saw a tall, dark-haired man with black eyes. A Betazoid, he guessed.

“A Vorta, yes,” Weyoun said.

“Your people led the attack on mine,” the man said. “Occupied my planet for almost a year.”

“I played no role in that event, but I am sorry for the damages done to your planet and your people,” Weyoun said.

“Don’t apologize,” the man said, smiling and patting a hand on Weyoun’s shoulder, making him flinch, and he sat down beside him at the bar. “You know something?”

“What’s that?” Weyoun asked.

“I can’t read your mind,” the man said. “Isn’t that the funniest thing? The only species I’ve met until now whose mind I couldn’t read was the Ferengi.”

“Perhaps there’s nothing to read.”

The man laughed and patted him on the shoulder again. “I like you.”

“Thank you,” Weyoun said slowly, almost questioningly.

“I’m Kendric,” he said. “And you are?”

“Weyoun.”

He leaned away in disbelief. “No, you’re not.”

“Probably not the one you’re thinking of,” Weyoun said, taking another sip of his drink.

“That’s right,” Kendric said. “You’re cloned. I forgot. So you’re the last one.”

“In a way.”

“Huh.”

Kendric waved the bartender over and ordered the same drink Weyoun had.

“How many are you in?”

“What’s that?”

“How many drinks have you had?”

“Uh,” Weyoun hesitated, looking at his drink. “This would be the first.”

“You wanna have a contest? There was a Vorta woman in Rixx who used to do drinking competitions. She always won.”

Weyoun started to tell him that the Vorta were immune to most poisons and mind-altering substances, but stopped. What this man didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And since he couldn’t read his mind, Weyoun saw no imminent threat to himself either.

“And if we had a drinking competition and I won, what would I get? Your people don’t use currency,” Weyoun said.

Kendric dug around in his pockets before retrieving a black and silver disc on a chain and setting it on the bar.

“What is it?” Weyoun asked, examining it as he sipped his drink.

Kendric picked it up again and pressed a button on the side, which made the front spring forward. On the inside there was a clock face with fourteen markings in a circle on the outer edge, and three hands moving at different rates.

“A pocket watch,” he said. “Antique. It’s got no personal sentimental value, but I’m sure it’s worth something to somebody.”

“Hm,” Weyoun hummed, looking at it.

“So,” Kendric said, snapping it shut, “what would you give me if I won?”

Weyoun reached into the inner pocket of his tunic and retrieved a small leather bag Julian had given him, inside of which was a handful of coins for the hotel arcade.

“All I have on me now are arcade tokens,” Weyoun said. “But like your watch, I’m sure they’re worth something to someone. If you don’t want them, you could trade them.”

“Sounds good enough to me,” Kendric said with a confident grin. “So we have a deal?”

“We have a deal,” Weyoun said.

After they finished their drinks, Kendric suggested they switch to a Betazoid beer which was gentler and had a slightly lower alcohol content, and Weyoun agreed.

Two drinks in, Kendric was laughing, seemingly at nothing. Weyoun laughed with him, amused by the man’s apparent tipsiness.

Five drinks in, and Kendric was holding tightly to the bar with one hand, as though if he didn’t, he would surely fall to the ground. And maybe he would.

Eight drinks in and Kendric was holding his head up with his hand, his elbow laid heavily on the bar.

“What are the rules here?” Weyoun asked. “How do we determine a winner?”

“Gender...gen... _gernerally_ ,” Kendric slurred, “the winner is whoever doesn’t give up first.”

“Right,” Weyoun said. “And, uh, do you have someone who can take you back to your room after this is over?”

“Why don’t you take me back to yours?” Kendric said with a laugh.

“Because I’m here with friends,” Weyoun said evenly.

“That’s no fun.”

“Do you have a way back to your room?”

“My friend Hernan.”

“Okay.”

“Another drink.”

“Are you quite sure about—”

Weyoun was cut off by the sound of Kendric vomiting violently on the ground between them. He flinched back, grimacing at the sight.

“Never mind,” Kendric said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and pushing the watch toward Weyoun with the other hand. “You win.”

“Okay,” Weyoun managed to say, watching with wide eyes as a second Betazoid man made his way over from a few seats away and quietly helped his friend off his stool.

Weyoun picked up the watch and tucked it into his pocket, and headed back up the hill in the direction of the hotel where he and his group were staying.

The next three nights went about the same. While Kira and Odo went for a pleasant evening stroll on the beach or through the gardens, he would wander off to some bar or other and engage in a friendly little drinking competition. They usually didn’t end the same way as the first, thankfully, but they always ended with him gaining possession of whatever trinket his opponent had to offer.

On the fourth night, he found himself in competition with a tall and foreboding Andorian-Vulcan woman who was quite confident in her ability to hold her Andorian ale. They had been drinking for nearly an hour straight, and were about five bottles deep when she first began to appear dizzy.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Of course I am,” she said, lurching forward some.

He smiled. “Alright.”

“How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“I’ve never known a non-Andorian who could drink so much Andorian ale.”

“Hm,” he smirked, and downed another shot.

She followed suit.

Three more, and she began to get very suspicious.

“Are you cheating?” she asked.

“Of course not. You’ve seen me swallow all of it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her body swaying slightly. “Alright. Another.”

The bartender refilled their glasses, and she let out a groan as she finished hers.

“Alright. I give up,” she said, shoving the packet of blue crystal dice toward him.

“Thank you,” he said with a slight bow as he stood, taking the pack and slipping it into his pocket. “It was a pleasure to compete with you.”

“Hmph,” she huffed, turning her back to him.

He started walking back toward the walking path which led up to the hotel, but before he could make it fully out of the bar area, he heard someone behind him speak up.

“He’s a Vorta. He can’t get drunk.”

“What?” the woman from the bar shouted.

“You heard me!”

“Is that true, Vorta?” she asked, suddenly grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him around.

She loomed over him, almost a whole head taller. She seemed very steady suddenly for someone under the influence of more than two bottles of Andorian ale.

“Well…” he said. “Um…”

“Weyoun?”

They both turned to see Ezri standing in the doorway.

He slipped back, out of the woman’s grip, and exaggeratedly stumbled his way over to his friend. “Ezri,” he said, grabbing her by the forearm. “My good friend, Ezri Dax. It’s so good to s...to see you.”

“What are you doing?” Ezri asked.

“You know him?” the Andorian woman asked.

“Yeah, he’s my friend’s kid,” Ezri said, rolling her eyes as she looked in mock judgment upon Weyoun, who was doing...well, not a poor job, but certainly a strange job of pretending to be drunk as he studied the spots on the side of her neck.

The woman let out a huff of air. “Get him out of here.”

“Will do,” Ezri said, grabbing Weyoun by the arm and leading him out of the bar.

Once they were clear of the area, Weyoun straightened up again, but left his arm in hers.

“Thank you for that,” he said. “But how did you know where to find me?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “Odo sent me to look for you, and when I heard someone yelling about a Vorta, I knew it was you.”

“It could have been any Vorta,” he said.

She looked at him, one eyebrow raised, and he laughed.

“Joking, of course,” he said.

She laughed, too. “I don’t know what you were doing in there, but it sure sounds like you caused some trouble.”

“If you must know, I had gotten quite good at winning drinking contests over the past few nights,” he said.

“Drinking contests? You?” she asked.

“Mhm,” he nodded.

“Huh.”

“I won these,” he said, pulling the pouch of Andorian dice out of his pocket and handing them to her.

“They’re nice,” she said, passing them back after examining them briefly. “But I’d hardly call it winning. You cheated that woman.”

“It’s not my fault she didn’t know my people are immune to toxins,” he said.

“You’re terrible,” she said, but her smile gave away her amusement.

“Perhaps,” he said. “When we get back, I can show you some of the other things I’ve won.”

“Okay,” she said.

“I think you’ll find the Vulcan brain teasers quite interesting,” he said. “Or perhaps the fountain pen I won off that Terran captain.”

“A fountain pen?” she asked.

“Yes, but that’s not nearly as impressive as the antique Betazoid pocket watch I got the first night,” he said.

“You little cheat,” she said, laughing. “I can’t believe you, hustling innocent people out of prized possessions.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I doubt it’ll happen any more after tonight’s incident,” he said.

“Maybe that’s for the better,” she said.

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But I was eyeing a Cardassian signet ring. Obsidian Order, from the markings.”

“Absolutely not! Do you want to get yourself killed?”

“Oh, maybe you’re right. I've never liked kanar anyway."


End file.
